


Spare A Life (indefinite Hiatus)

by Fallencellist



Series: Dragon's Love [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Noodle Dragons, halloween terror, slow burn?, tags to be added as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallencellist/pseuds/Fallencellist
Summary: Everything went wrong. Revenge was not as easy at the doctor thought. As he stared into the face of death for the second time he began to realize that perhaps it wasn't his destiny to get what he wanted. Junkenstein's Revenge was short lived. Yet, what wasn't expected was the kindness one Wanderer showed him. His whole world was thrown asunder, beginning to realize how much he had done, and what was going to change now that his colors were shown.





	1. Fear of Death

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the Halloween of Terror event for Overwatch, I've decided to indulge myself in a Junkrat/Hanzo story--more specifically a Junkenstein/Archer (Hanzo) story. I'm hoping to keep inspiration to get this story done with multiple chapters! Feedback is always appreciated~

Junkenstein wasn’t afraid of death, at least not too much. He had met The Reaper, the servant of the Witch of the Wilds, who embodied death—his name was a dead giveaway about his job and talent. The doctor didn’t fear what death could do, because he had given life to something that was dead! He had bested death. 

Yet, after the Gunslinger’s shot pierced through his skull, there was that fear. It was in that moment he realized he feared death, the unknown that would come after his body wilted into a useless pile of flesh, no longer taking commands from his brilliant mind. 

And that fear lingered even as he floated in the darkness, wondering what would become of his mind now that he was dead. It still lingered as he was pulled from the darkness with a bright yellow light, forced back into his previously cold dead body. Forced right back into the fight by the Witch of the Wilds. He wasn’t going to be let go of that easily. 

Junkenstein did what he knew to do: as life came back into his limbs, he returned to his goal—perhaps there was still a chance he could make it—kill those Wanderers and make his revenge complete. That was the only hope that didn’t cause him to give up, because there was still that chance. It was better than nothing. 

He picked up his previously discarded frag launcher and resumed his attack. There was a voice in the back of his head urging him to just turn around and run, never look back and survive another day. There was no choice however—because the Witch glanced back towards him, a gaze that just dared him to run. A cold chill ran down his spine, making him stay right in place. 

He knew, a part inside his chest, that the fight was futile. The three of them individually were strong and together they could amass a power that could wreck havoc in the town, but the Wanderers were smart. They were well coordinated for being just four. The Archer would send his dragons to funnel their enemies into one area as the Soldier scored every shot he took. The Alchemist would give her boost to the Gunslinger, packing an extra punch to his deadly accuracy. The Wanderers were the powers not to be reckoned with. 

It struck him hard, watching from his perch above as the Wanderers quickly mowed down the Witch, and even worse was to watch them break down his creation, riddling it with bullet holes and arrows sticking out it’s body. The creature fought, struggled against each blow until the wounds became too much. Junkenstein didn’t care much if the Witch fell, she was an asset to his work, but his creation was his life’s work! 

He was mad—pissed! How dare those wankers kill his wonderful creation! All his work, his dreams of revenge, all torn apart and stomped on by those _Wanderers_. Bombs were lobbed across the castle entrance, exploding upon contact against the walls and the flesh of the defenders. They wouldn’t stop him! Nobody would! 

Then the familiar pain rippled through his body, another bullet to his flesh—this time it wasn’t to the head, but to the chest. Not a killing shot, but enough to cause Junkenstein to fall to the flagstone below. 

This wasn’t how he wanted it to go. Not at all. It was supposed to end with him walking into the castle of Aldersbrunn and laughing as he made the Lord suffer greatly for what he did to him. To throw the corpses of his little heroes down, to watch the Lord scream in terror as his Zomnics flooded into the room, ending the lives of his precious guards as well. To take the painful end of the lord into his own hands, making him suffer for days before he would finally grace the old fool with death. 

That was just a dream now—a dream that would never be reality. He’d be lucky to survive the night. As he fell from the perch there was only a single thought going through his mind: Junkenstein was scared. 

Colliding against the flagstone, the scientist let out a shriek in pain, his body involuntarily curling in on itself, protecting the vital organs in his chest from any further damage. If only it was all just a dream, that he could wake up in his bed, the pain gone. 

No such luck. 

His body tensed up further as he heard the footsteps approaching. Four sets of footsteps. The Wanderers were probably coming to deal with the trash. 

Instinctively, Junkenstein went limp. Playing dead was the only option he had left if he didn’t want to be dead for real, again. 

“Think he’s dead?” The Soldier quarried to the others, stopping just in front of the body. 

“We could give him another bullet just to make sure,” The Gunslinger chuckled a bit, frowning as he got a look from the Alchemist. 

“We are not monsters, Gunslinger,” she told him in a motherly tone, “it is unlikely he survived your Dead-Eye or the fall from his perch. Let his body lay, and tomorrow we will give him a proper burial.” 

“Does he really deserve one?” The Soldier snorted, kicking at Junkenstein’s body. It took all the scientist’s will to not squeak out from the pain. 

Another glare was given, this time directed towards the older gentlemen, “Yes, he deserves it. It is disrespectful to leave the dead above ground, even if they have done something such as he has. There was once a young kind man hidden beneath all the madness and lust for revenge.” 

“You should inform the Lord about our success,” the Archer spoke up, getting the others to look towards him, “I will give him a proper burial.” 

Burial. Buried alive sounded like an even worse way to go than to be shot. At least one he would go out quickly instead of slowly choking on dirt. 

He couldn’t keep in the shiver that rippled down his spine from the thought of such a horrible death. It was enough to get the attention of the Wanderers. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” the Gunslinger whistled, being the first to comment about the moment, “the bastard survived the fall.” He readied Peacekeeper for another shot, the cocking getting Junkenstein to quickly pop up. 

Perhaps a bit too quick. His body screamed out from the prior wounds, causing him to fall back onto his ass. 

“P-please!” The scientist scooted back a few paces, his one good leg pressing close to his body, a single hand held out as a defense, “I-I don’t want to die, not again!” 

His wide panicked eyes focused on each of the Wanderers, “What would you have done, driven away by the only people who seemed to care about you? Mocked and belittled because they didn’t see the benefit of your creations. I had no choice!” His eyes focused onto the Alchemist, having known her for the longest, begging to be spared, “They drove me to do my actions, and the Witch! Sh-she wouldn’t let me go after I made my deal with her! I had to bring life to my creation to show the Lord what I could do—that I wasn’t as useless as he thought!” 

The Alchemist avoided looking in the doctor’s eyes, hurt reflecting in her single eye. 

“You only proved you were a madman!” The Soldier retorted with a spitting bite, “You gave up your humanity to make a monster!” 

“A monster?” Junkenstein spat back, glaring sharp daggers to the Soldier, “I created life! I defied the laws of mortality! I took what was dead and brought it back!” He tried to stand up, only to go crashing back down as his legs couldn’t support his weight. 

Slowly, a giggle slipped through his broken lips, “Still couldn’t save it from you blokes and your bloody arrows and bullets.” The giggle subsided into a coughing fit, before leaving the scientist struggling for breaths. 

The four heroes exchanged glances, some unsure what to do, why the Soldier was clear on what he wanted to do. 

“I say we end him here,” his gun was pointed right at the man’s head. 

“No,” The Archer insisted, using his hand to push down the Soldier’s gun, “I said I would take care of this, and I will stick to that word. The three of you should return the Lord to give him peace of mind.” 

“It’d give him more of a peace of mind if we presented this rat’s body to him,” the Soldier snarled. 

The Alchemist put her hand onto the Soldier’s shoulder, nodding towards the direction of the gates. She didn’t want him to have any more blood on his hands, especially after they both suffered the shock of seeing their old friend in such a state. 

“Come on,” She hummed soothingly, “Let’s leave the Archer to his work. We can talk to the Lord and relax—we all know we could use a good long relaxation after this night.” She nodded to the Gunslinger to follow before forcing her old friend to come along. 

The glint in the Archer’s eyes gave her a notice to his intentions. Perhaps, it would be good for the Archer to deal with the scientist. She continued to usher away the other two Wanderers before giving a small smile to the Archer. 

The Archer watched as the group left—once they were out of sight behind the castle gates, his attention turned towards Junkenstein. He stared down at the man, lost in thought for a few heartbeats. How could the man the Alchemist once spoke of fall into what was laying before him? 

It baffled the Archer. Still, he felt some remorse for what he did to the man. Revenge was understandable, it manipulated people into doing crazy things: like creating a whole Zomnic army to try to destroy the homes of those who did nothing but belittle them. 

Slowly the Archer knelt next to the scientist, grimacing as he saw the man curl back even more. Afraid of the touch, afraid of the death that could strike him at any moment. He couldn’t do it: he couldn’t end Junkenstein’s life. It was like finding a poor kitten that only lashed out because he was scared and then stomping the poor thing’s head in. It was inhumane, and even with everything that had happened, the Archer still had his humanity. 

“Don’t worry,” The Archer took note that one of the scientist’s arms wasn’t working—and upon closer inspection he noticed that the arm was mechanical from just above the elbow and down. A few wires hung out broken and frayed. The same could have been said about his right leg on the same side as the arm—broken, mechanical and barely functioning. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he kept his voice calm, tender as he reached out his hand. His storm bow was situated on his back, ready to be pulled out upon the next time it was needed, “I have no intention of killing you.” 

“Why?” the hate that burned in the scientist’s eyes took the Archer by surprise, “Are you going to mock how far I have fallen? Or present me to the Lord so he can behead me ‘emself?” It was clearer that the doctor was Australian, strange since Aldersbrunn wasn’t in Australia. Another traveler, like him. 

“No,” The Archer simply replied. 

“N-no?” The response got the doctor to stutter, confusion sweeping over his expression, “Why not?” Well, it wasn’t exactly the smartest move to argue about the other not killing him, he should have just gone with it, but his curious mind bypassed that logic. 

“Because I do not see just a monster,” the Archer hummed, deciding to sit down on his legs as if he was going to meditate—relaxed in front of the madman he was once trying to harm, “you have suffered greatly, thrown from the place you thought was your home. You fought to stay here,” he trailed off for a moment, holding his breath before continuing, “I didn’t do such a thing, and I regret it. I was banished from my home, and I didn’t do anything to fight to stay there.” 

His deep brown eyes turned up towards the sky, “I still miss the cherry blossoms as they fell from the trees, blanketing the ground in their vibrant pinks.” There was few he would tell this tale to, the only others being the three he defended with—just a brief conversation amidst the fighting. 

“I respect you for trying to stay, instead of giving up and leaving.” The Archer’s words struck Junkenstein, causing his anger to quickly dissolve. This hero, the one who was tasked to end his onslaught, respected him? 

“I…” Junkenstein tried to form a proper sentence, his mind working at a million miles per second, “I-I don’t know what to say…” He wrung his fingers together, avoiding making any sort of eye contact with the Archer. 

The man glanced up, his gaze falling all around them. Nobody else was coming, but there was a high chance either guards or even the Lord and the others would come back to make sure the doctor had met his end. 

“We should leave here,” The Archer stated as he stood up, giving another gander around him. His focus turned to the scientist, “they will most likely be back to make sure the deed is truly done.” He offered out his hand, “Come.” 

For a moment Junkenstein studied the hand offered to him. Was it a trick? His own gaze met the Archer’s, studying it to find any malicious intent. 

He couldn’t find such a thing in the gaze. It was soft, caring—a look Junkenstein hadn’t seen in so many years. Not from the Alchemist that once took care of him at a young age, not from anyone whom he once called a friend. 

“A-alright,” he finally agreed, using his good arm to take hold of the offered hand. In a swift pull, he was on his feet and the Archer’s arm holding him up by the belt, “let’s get out of this place.” He had no concerns or desire on staying in the town any longer. His eyes darted over towards where the Witch and his creation fell, uneased when he noticed both were gone. 

It was a slow walk away from the gate, Junkenstein hobbling as well as he could with one leg non-functional and the wounds that dotted his body. The Archer kept his hold strong, keeping pace with the man as they shuffled through the town. He would check on the doctor every so often to see if he needed a rest or more assistance. Each time the man would dismiss the offered help. 

Luckily for them, the townspeople had been evacuated beforehand, so they would have no worries about running into them. It made it much easier to maneuver around the streets without any unwanted stops or questions. Both the Archer and Junkenstein were relieved for this fact. 

“Ey…” Junkenstein mumbled barely audible as they approached the outskirts of the town, “can I ask one small thing?” He waited for the Archer to glance towards him, “Ye’re name really isn’t ‘The Archer’ right?” 

He was given a nod before continuing, “What is your real name?” 

The steps halted, the Archer’s eyes focusing on the area in front of them. He could see the castle-like structure the scientist called home. It could have seen better days. He sensed the focus of the scientist shift as well, glancing in the similar direction. 

“Eh, well, it was worth a shot,” Junkenstein let out a soft laugh, “It’d be best ta get into my home before the others start huntin ya down to see if ya really did get rid of me.” 

The Archer nodded, picking back up the pace as they began the climb up the hill. Silence was held in the air as they made their way to the home, an occasional glimpse from the doctor towards the Archer, but nothing more. 

Upon reaching the castle, the Archer glanced behind them, seeing the grand view of the town that splayed out before them. It was a beautiful sight to take in, like how his home looked as the moonlight glittered against the contrast of the darkened sky. The dim lights of the homes that were slowly becoming occupied again dotting the night air like little stars that had fallen to the ground. He could see the grand castle the Lord lived in, aglow with all the light—perhaps there was a celebration going on. 

“It’s beautiful,” he spoke aloud, a sigh mixing in with his words. 

“It’s a real beaut,” Junkenstein softly agreed. He took in the view, feeling a heaviness encumber his heart, “a lot less when you know how much those people hate you.” His eyes quickly averted from the sight, wishing not to stir up some old memories that were in the muck of the back of his mind. Best to keep those at rest. 

The Archer gave a small hum before helping the scientist inside. 

Gently he placed Junkenstein onto one of the chairs in the lounge, stepping back. He could see in the man’s eyes that he was getting tired—either from exhaustion and or the blood loss. He’d have to patch up those wounds before anything else could go on. It was a death sentence to fall asleep why still bleeding out. 

“Where do you keep your medical supplies?” He scanned the room for any signs of the mentioned items. For a doctor he was sure messy with his room. The lounge was in chaos: pillows thrown around the room, piles of paper stacked around including a few loose papers strewn around. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit thinking about how one of his friends would react to such chaos. 

“I,” a wince as pain welled up in the doctor’s side, “I keep most of it in the lab or the medicine cabinet.” 

The Archer nodded, “Where is the medicine cabinet?” 

“Just down the hall, third door on the right. Ya can’t miss it.” 

“Very well,” the man nodded before heading towards the hallway, “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Take yer time,” Junkenstein attempted a legit laugh. His eyes followed the Archer up until the moment he left, still wondering why the man let him live. It was unusual for him to be shown kindness. There was a strange feeling welling inside his chest, tightening against his rib cage. It wasn’t the pain from the bullet, more of something else. A similar feeling to what he felt when he first saw life in his creation, but this was warmer. 

No, this was that same feeling he felt with his old friend. Affection. Was he really starting to feel affection towards one of the people that ruined his chance at revenge? A redness slowly crept over his cheeks, causing the scientist to bury his face within his hand. 

It couldn’t be. He told himself that he would never deal with the pain again. It was inevitable that the Archer would fall just like his old friend had, or turn on him like the rest of them did. Junkenstein still missed hearing the sweet sound of his voice… 

“These were not as easy to find as you made it seem,” The Archer’s voice caused him to jump a bit, his eyes going wide as he stared towards the man. 

“Are you…” the Archer blinked, “are you alright?” 

“Oh, me?” Junkenstein pointed to himself before waving his functioning hand, “Oh yeah, I’m peachy—as peachy as I could be right now.” He gave a nervous laugh, running his hand across the back of his neck as the Archer came over. Smooth Jamison, real smooth. 

The other examined the wounds as best he could with some being covered by the layers of clothing, “I’m going to have to remove your lab coat and under-shirt.” That statement got the redness to only increase on the other man’s face. 

“A-ah—” The scientist spurted, “A-alright.” He nodded quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly to be casual. He was out of practice interacting with others who were not some sort of evil spirit, or just an emotionless hunk of metal that couldn’t even respond to him. 

Cautiously, the Archer began to remove the upper garments, starting with the vials of glowing blue liquid that was strapped to the man’s chest. Next was the torn-up lab coat, looking as if there wasn’t much to save, slipping the sleeve cautiously over the mechanical arm before setting it aside. 

Next, with even more precision and caution, the shirt was unbuttoned and slipped over Junkenstein’s head, careful to not move it too quickly from the blood that was sticking the cloth to the wound. It caused a grimace and a few grunts of pain to slip from the scientist, but soon the shirt was off as well. 

Surprisingly, despite how scrawny Junkenstein looked with his lab coat covering most of his form, he had a tone upper body—more than likely from the work he did carrying supplies to and from his lab. 

The wound in his chest was the worst of the bunch, his side cut open from one of the Archer’s arrows slicing the skin and through some flesh. 

“I apologize for that wound,” The Archer tried to give a joke to lighten the mood—not his strongest suit, “It should not take me long to patch theses up.” They were no different than the wounds he got when he was on the run. 

From the pile of medical supplies, he picked up forceps, needing to remove any of the bullets left in from the Gunslinger’s pistol. The metal was more than likely a type that would cause a nasty infection if kept in. 

“This will hurt,” he made sure to make it clear before slowly inserting the forceps into the open wound. He could feel the doctor tense up, holding back the sounds of pain. 

One by one, the Archer removed the bullets and began to clean the wounds, adding gauze to cover the wound and the clean strips of cloth he could find to wrap around. 

While working, he hummed, “Hanzo.” 

“Wha?” the scientist spoke between attempts to hold back the cries of pain, opening a single eye just a smidgen. 

“My name is Hanzo.” 

“Hanzo…” Junkenstein tested the name on his own lips, opening his eyes fully, “has a nice flow to it. Sounds like name you would associate with the wind or water.” 

He noticed the small sliver of a smile come to Hanzo’s lips. This only made him smile as well. The smile looked good on him. 

“Alright,” Hanzo declared as he moved away with the final wrapping of the bandage finished, “That was the last of them.” 

“I’m not quite sure how to fix your arm or leg,” he frowned at admitting his inability to fully help, “so that may be a bit of a problem.” 

“No need to worry,” the scientist waved his good hand to dismiss the problem, “once I get ta feelin’ better I’ll have them fixed in no time—mechanics are one of my specialties.” 

He paused, thinking for a moment. His mind worked slower than his lips, spilling out his thought before he had a chance to stop himself, “Will you stay here for the night? I-I mean,” he started to stutter again, avoiding eye contact with the archer, “only if ya can. I mean, the others will probably get concerned if you don’t return and all, but…” 

He trailed off, deciding it would be better not to dig himself into a deeper hole. 

“Of course,” the response from Hanzo got the scientist to look up immediately. 

“R-really?” 

The archer nodded, “Yes, I need to stay and make sure your wounds heal and you don’t get any infections, as well that you need help moving around since your right side isn’t functioning.” 

There was a pause as the archer thought about the options, “I do have to return—perhaps borrow a few potions from the Alchemist to help with your wounds. The others will want to update me on what’s going on, but after that I can talk with her and get back here.” 

“Ye think she would be alright with that?” Junkenstein frowned a bit—if that meant she would be suspicious about him still living, that would make things worse for him. Right now, he just wanted to remain hidden and recover physically and recover his broken ego. 

“She will,” the archer replied, “unlike the Soldier and the Gunslinger—to a point, the two of us were not as keen about the idea of outright killing you. Apparently, she knew you when you were younger.” 

“Yeah,” A small smile came to the scientist’s lips, “She was the first one ta welcome me into the town, especially after my father passed away. Always there when something wrong would happen in my lab and clean me up after messin’ with my explosives.” The memories hurt a bit, especially after things started to go downhill with the Lord. The poor woman was torn between her dear friend and the kid she practically helped raise. He didn’t blame her too much for the choices she made. How could he blame her? 

“I’ll see if she wants to visit—only if you are fine with it,” Hanzo corrected himself before giving any pause. 

“I’d like that,” there was that smile growing wider, enough to expose the slightly sharp teeth that lined his mouth, “Thank you, Hanzo.” 

The archer reached out, letting his hand rest against the line of the doctor’s jaw, “You’re welcome, Junkenstein. I’ll be back before midnight.” 

“Ya can just call me Jamison,” he corrected, giving a small laugh, “I think since I get ta call ya by your first name, I’d offer the same.” There was a struggle, fighting off the urge to lean into the touch. When the hand was slipped away it left the area cold, wanting to feel the warmth of the skin against his own. 

Hanzo shook his head with a laugh before heading towards the way out. 

He glanced over his shoulder towards the doctor, offering a small wave, then left the room. 

“Be safe, archer,” Junkenstein whispered to himself, the heat rising to his cheeks. Great, he’d fallen head over heels for somebody again.


	2. Secrets of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are becoming clearer on how things went so wrong for the doctor and The Archer isn't sure how far he can delve before he becomes too involved. . .

Hanzo’s footsteps echoed in unison with Ana’s as they made their way through the castle. There was a celebration going on within the castle in honor of the heroes’ victory, but Hanzo was never one for parties, opting to instead leave—of course only after having a word with Ana. He had to get back to Jamison as soon as possible with the potions. The Lord of Adlersbrunn was understanding, knowing that the Wanderers had their own business to do, but it still made him sad to see The Archer having to leave. 

The two Wanderers walked in silence as the moved farther away from the bustling room. Only their steps echoed against the stone walls as the chattering of the people slowly faded into the distance. Finally, once they were a far enough away from the noise, they spoke to each other. 

“How is he doing?” The first question that came out of the alchemist’s mouth caught Hanzo by surprise. 

“What do you mean?” he rose an eyebrow glancing over to her. Once he was given the look that basically translated to ‘you know exactly what I’m talking about’ Hanzo sighed, “He’s recovering. There’s some decent damage internally, which is one of the questions I wanted to ask.” 

“I will gladly spare a few of my potions to help,” Ana smiled, pulling out a bag from inside her coat, “it should help the healing process go quicker, and if you need any more I’ll happily supply them.” She gently handed off the bag to the archer. 

“Arigatō,” Hanzo bowed his head as he accepted the gift. His footsteps slowed to a halt as he turned to Ana. 

“And what is the other question you wanted to ask?” She smiled, knowing the general idea of what the question pertained to. 

“What was Jamison like, before he became hell bent on revenge?” It seemed like a silly question to him: like any other person who fell to madness, they couldn’t handle the test of their will, breaking down into a mess. But, something more seemed to influence what happened to Jamison. It was more than just chosen insanity. 

The alchemist let out a slow sigh, shaking her head, “He used to be a sweet boy—had a habit of playing with explosives when he shouldn’t have, but well behaved around me.” She could easily recall the young Australian as he would always show her the wounds he would get from messing with things. They were always wounds from explosives going wrong, soot and ash covering his face and on occasion the ends of his hair would be singed and embers flickering at the tips. 

“He came here when he was barely able to walk with his father—his mother had died back in Australia and they wanted a fresh new start. His father was always encouraging him to seek out truth in the world, to test and study what was around him, to find answers. I knew his father well, became good friends with him until the day he died.” 

Her gaze turned towards the nearby window, gazing out of it with no clear target of sight, “After he passed, I took it upon myself to make sure Jamie was raised well enough he could survive on his own. I taught him a few things of alchemy, his favorite was always one that would create a potion that tasted like a tropical punch mix.” She let out a soft laugh, turning her gaze back to Hanzo. 

“He started to go downhill once his childhood friend disappeared,” this statement really perked up Hanzo’s interest. 

“What happened to his friend, who were they?” He didn’t mean to let out so many questions, but the spilled forward. 

“Nobody is quite sure what happened to him,” her smile quickly turned to a frown with the change in subject, “he was a wonderful boy for Jamie, kept him out of trouble and always there to straighten him out if he was showing signs of going too far. The two were inseparable. He could calm Jamie quickly with his voice.” 

“His name?” Hanzo pushed a bit, wanting to know more. 

“His name was Lucio,” She finally spilled out the name after giving into the pleading look upon the archer’s face. It felt off telling the archer about Jamie’s friend, since it would have been better for the doctor himself to open and give the information, “but I would advise not to speak his name around Jamie, it’s a rather sore subject, just like you and your brother.” She placed a reassuring hand onto Hanzo’s shoulder. 

“You should get back to him, I’ll tell the others you had to leave due to another engagement in the east,” Ana gave him a gentle nudge before turning around to head back to the party, “and let him know I’ll be visiting in the morning to help repair that arm of his: he’ll start getting cranky if he can’t be independent.” 

“Of course, and thank you again,” Hanzo bowed his head and turned around himself. 

“Archer,” Ana waited as he turned back to look at her once again, “I should be thanking you. It’s been years since Jamie has been show kindness, something I’ve neglected to pay attention to. Take care of him, you’ll be helpful to ground each other with what has happened to both of you.” 

With a final wave and a smile, Ana retreated to the main hall to rejoin the others in the celebration. Hanzo remained for a moment, watching where the alchemist had vanished, “Helpful for each other…” She had wisdom in her words: they had both lost somebody important to them, the ones that grounded them from floating far too high. 

He’d follow what the alchemist had suggested, storing the new information in the back of his mind to not be mentioned until Jamison revealed the details himself. He put one arm under the bag of potions, holding it for a moment before returning to his direction of travel. These would significantly reduce the recovery time and help ease the pain. 

“Hey, Archer,” the thick southern drawl of the Gunslinger got Hanzo to stop, a thin frown forming on his lips. Shit, there goes his chance of leaving without any hitches. 

“What is it Gunslinger?” He glanced over his shoulder towards the man, “I have to be leaving very soon.” 

“Not going to stay for the party?” The man approached on the Archer’s left, stopping he was just barely in front of him, “It’d be mighty rude not to stay since it’s in honor of our victory.” His brown eyes studied the bag the archer held in his hands. Looked a hell lot like the bag the Alchemist was carrying around earlier. 

“I have another engagement I must attend to,” The Archer replied, “I need to go back east and the Alchemist has gifted me some potions for my trip.” 

“Ah, well,” the Gunslinger tipped his hat a bit, “Mind if I tag along with ya for a bit? I’m heading out myself since I’ve still got my job to do. Personally, I'm not much for the large bustling party, rather just drink alone.” 

“And what pray tell is this job?” The Archer sighed, knowing well that he wouldn’t be able to easily shake off the Gunslinger. He motioned for the man to follow him and began his trek to the castle exit. 

“I’m a hunter,” the Gunslinger hummed as he matched the Archer’s pace, “usually of such things as vampires, werewolves and demons,” he didn’t seem to notice the small flinch that broke through the Archer’s stoic demeanor. 

“Doesn’t sound like an appealing job,” the Archer hissed under his breath. 

“It’s not the best, but with such a keen sense as I have,” the cowboy grinned, “it’s less of a problem once you get used to it.” 

“I would never go into such a profession,” the response was dry, cold. 

The Gunslinger grimaced just a bit, “Come on,” he stood in front of the Archer, halting both their advancements to the gates, “I thought we were finally getting somewhere after all that fighting,” he raised a hand, letting it rest against the back of his head, “I thought we could do some more talkin’ before parting ways.” There was no intent of forcing from the cowboy, the awkward smile with his eyes partially closed. 

The Archer sighed, “I would love to, but my time is short. I have to return,” he gazed at the other for a moment before letting out a heavy breath, “but we can walk together until we reach the outskirts of the castle.” 

The response got the Gunslinger to only widen that awkward smile into a brighter one as he tipped the hat on his head, “Thank’ya kindly,” The man took to his position on the left before returning in step with the Archer. 

“You control those dragons you summoned back on the battlefield, right?” the question got the Archer to raise an eyebrow, a curious gaze shot towards the other. 

“Of course I do, they are guardians to my family.” He held back the bitter taste of being insulted from such a question. 

“I meant no disrespect from it,” the Gunslinger held up his hands, “I just noticed that sometimes ya had problems getting them to go in the right direction—either that or you didn’t want to use them against the doctor.” 

He was starting to be backed up into a corner, getting the Archer to tense up a bit. It was too close, “I didn’t feel right: a death caused by my dragons is one that only the worst of people should get. The doctor was misunderstood and failed to overcome the madness. He wasn’t evil,” his gaze fell, “he was just isolated and alone, unknowing how to deal with the cards he was dealt.” 

“Perhaps,” the Archer’s gaze returned to the space in front of him, seeing the Gunslinger in his peripheral vision, “I related to him and I couldn’t bring myself to end him.” 

“Let me ask ya—and do know I won’t be judgin’ ya for your answer,” the cowboy cleared his throat, “Did you really deal with the doctor?” the question got their movements to stop once again. 

“I know we were sayin’ we should have killed him right then and there an’ everythin’ but I thought about it a bit more, and I honestly couldn’t have done it. During the battle it was easy: I just used Dead-Eye so I wasn’t solely focused on him. I practically grew up along with the guy and the others, granted I was a bit older than him, but I still was around him a lot. Ana, the Alchemist, was pretty much the grandmother or mother to most of the kids here—even if they came from a different place. Heck, most of us came from all different places.” 

“Jack, Ana and Gabe were the ones who collectively took care of us,” the Gunslinger sighed, “I really miss Gabe. After I got into a heap of trouble back home, he practically adopted me and the girl I had runnin’ around with me. He decided we would move here to Aldersbrunn where his old friend was staying—he never told us he was friends with the Lord of Aldersbrunn.” 

The Gunslinger took off his hat to smooth back his hair, “But, when I looked at Jamison up there, even if his eyes were clouded by madness, I still saw that little tyke who once saved my damn life from a werewolf. The kid threw himself at the werewolf to protect me.” 

“Is that how he lost his arm and leg?” The Archer quarried. 

“Nah, he already had those on his body when I met him. Don’t even know how he got them to this day,” The Gunslinger itched his nose, “but at his age, I was doing shit I shouldn’t have, not going around saving people’s lives.” 

“I wonder what caused him to fall so far,” The Archer hummed softly, partially glad that the subject had changed away from him, but at the same time he didn’t want to learn so much about the scientist coming from other people. 

“Some say it was after Lucio vanished,” the Gunslinger responded to the statement, even if it wasn’t open to responses, “After he disappeared Jamison started going off the deep end. Some guessed that he was trying to bring Luc back to life, but since no body was found it wasn’t possible. Others guessed he became isolated because either he was the one to end Lucio or the fact Lucio was gone was too much for him to bear. Most people didn’t pay much attention to him besides Luc.” 

“No wonder he was driven mad,” The Archer snorted, “To be isolated after so long of being around others would cause anyone to go stir crazy.” He knew that personally, it was one of the main reasons he came to the call of the Lord: to get away from his growing madness. 

“People need to be around people, no matter what they say,” the Gunslinger nodded in agreement. He hummed, his attention turning to the gates that lead outside of the castle, the very ones that they had defended tooth and nail. 

“Did a pretty good number on these gates,” he whistled, running his mechanical arm down the wooden surface, “Hopefully this’ll be the only time we have ta do something like that.” 

“We can hope,” the Archer agreed, pushing one of the doors open to head out himself, the Gunslinger slipping out right behind him. 

“Ya still didn’t answer my question,” he struck up the conversation again as they were mostly out of the town, “Did ya really end the doctor?” 

“You promise not to go telling if I tell you?” the Archer eyed the other suspiciously. 

“I promise as a gentleman I will not tell.” He held up his right hand and made an x over his heart. 

A few moments were spent staring at each other before the other gave in, letting out a heavy sigh, “I did not end him.” The Gunslinger mouthed ‘I knew it’ looking rather relieved more than unhappy that the doctor wasn’t dead. 

“Alright,” he acted as if it wasn’t much of an issue for him, but he was happy, “I hope those potions help him heal better.” He rested his arm on the Archer’s shoulder for a moment before letting it slide off, “I’ll let ya go back to wherever you are headin.” He tipped his hat, “Pleasure fighting alongside you, Archer.” 

“Please, Hanzo.” He corrected the man. 

“Alright, Hanzo, if we ever meet again you can just call me Jesse, and you’ll still owe me that drink.” Jesse gave a small laugh before turning and heading down one of the darker alleyways. 

“Farewell, Jesse,” Hanzo smiled a bit, watching as the man vanished into the darkness. He had never noticed how the others were outside of the fight—honestly, he hadn’t been himself in the fight, focused solely on surviving and keeping the gates protected. Outside, they were just normal people. They were fighters, but underneath that they were unique, not machines like the doctor had built. 

He shook his head softly, ignoring the feeling in his heart that he was already missing the gunslinger. Parting was always the result of the people he met: they would always leave in the end. 

His attention returned to the distant form of Junkenstein’s residence. It must have been close to midnight by now, the promised time he would be back—and he never went back on his promises, especially when they involved being present in a timely fashion. 

Hanzo picked up his pace just a bit into a soft jog, making light work of the hike up the hill towards the home. The bottles that contained the potions jingled against each other with each step the archer took. 

The castle-structure was much more inviting now that he had known what was held within, that it wasn’t the classical picture of the inside of a mad scientist’s lair. He felt rather childish for having such a thought. It was more like a home, colder, but still homey. 

Laughing to himself, he pushed open the front doors, calling out, “Jamison?” He didn’t expect too much of a response, but what he was greeted with was not what was expected. It sounded like something being dragged. 

His keen hearing quickly got him to the source, finding Junkenstein attempting to drag himself with one arm across the wall to return to where he was once sitting, a few tools resting in the pit of his arm. 

Noticed, the scientist looked just like a deer that stood before the headlights of a car. He paused in his movements, a small smile forming on his lips, “Ey, you’re back already?” There would be his best attempt to act casual, his elbow resting up against the wall as he leaned his weight into the spot, “’Ave a good time?” 

So smooth, even if his elbow started to slide down the wall. He was mere inches away from falling flat on his face before Hanzo swooped in, grabbing hold on the doctor’s belt again and hoisted him up. 

“Ye’re really fast, ya know that?” Jamison laughed, noticing that the archer had gotten himself not only over to him in time, but had put down the bag he was previously carrying. 

“What are you doing?” Hanzo grimaced, leading Jamison back over to the sofa he had previously left him, “You could have made your injuries worse.” He felt like how he did so many years ago, fretting over the one he cared for because they were being reckless. Putting their well being in danger because they couldn't sit still for more than a few seconds. 

“It’s fine,” the scientist laughed, “not like it can get any worse.” He was oblivious to the fact he could have gotten seriously hurt, just another day for him. 

Hanzo studied him for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. Well, he couldn’t have expected much else from the mad scientist, “Very well.” The instincts to protect was still lingering in his system, the height of senses from the battle still circulating. 

“I was just gettin’ a few things to patch up me arm,” Junkenstein spoke so casually as he placed the materials and tools he had gathered previously on the coffee table in front of him, “I still have some work to do.” What sort of work he wasn’t sure. 

After days straight of working on his Zomnic army, having nothing to do was unnerving—to say the least. His fingers were used to being actively building the machines, and with nothing to work on they, as well as the rest of him, were restless. 

“You still need to rest,” Hanzo sternly told him, going over to the bag he had sat down and opened it up. A hand reached in, pulling out one of the Alchemist’s potions, “as of right now your work should be put on hold.” 

He turned back around, taking a strong notice to the frown forming on the scientist’s lips. It was understandable for the unhappiness, yet it wasn’t wise for the man to start working. His wounds not only needed time to heal, but activity would cause suspicion to rise in those who would glance towards the direction of the castle. 

If he wanted to keep inconspicuous, there wasn’t room to make mistakes. The Lord would more than likely have some of the guards come looking for Junkenstein’s home. Destroying all the evidence would rid the madman from the minds of the villagers over time. Erasing him from the town was the easiest way for people to recover. 

Slowly, Hanzo returned over to Jamison, pulling the cap off the potion and offering it to him. Reluctantly, the scientist took it and quickly gulped it down. 

“I forgot to mention,” the archer added on as he moved the gathered materials away from the doctor just in case, “Ana sends her regards and will be visiting in the morning.” Deciding it was appropriate, he took a seat on the sofa, taking the farthest cushion away from Jamison. The news got a smile to come to the man’s lips, happy to know about it. 

“Until then I think you should rest,” with the potion doing its work internally, there was still the work on healing the scientist’s mind—a daunting task that would take a significantly longer time. There were months, if not years of cracks in his psyche, deep wounds that would become deep scars. 

Jamison held the empty vial in his hand, fingers curling against the cool glass. Of course, there was sound logic in the Archer’s words, yet he wanted to decline and decide to do something on his own accord. 

“Yeah…” finally he sighed out, being unable to stray away from the sound logic, “Ye’re right.” In a quick change of tone, Jamison gave a snort, “How dare ya turn logic against me into such a strong argument.” Leaning against the plush back of the sofa, he let out a hum. 

Time off huh? It was hard to say how long it had been since he had time to do something besides his work. For the years he could remember clearly, or at least vaguely remember, he had always been working. Work was his fun time, being able to discover new possibilities. It was a way to brush off his growing isolation and loneliness. Working on his experiments were a way for him to learn and discover, what he loved doing the most. 

What could he work on anyways? Not like he could do more work with his creation, since that was currently dead and missing. 

That brought his mind to wander back to the sight he saw before they left the castle gates: his creation was missing from the battlefield. With the damage done to the creature’s body there was no chance it could have gotten up and walked away. As well, the fact the Witch’s body was missing gave him a cold feeling in his gut. Maybe she wasn’t dead either. The words of the Soldier rang in his head: _can you ever really kill a witch?_

The thought didn’t set well with him. Jamison winced, leaning forward and pulling his one good leg up to his chest, “Fuckin…” If she was still alive there was a chance she would come to collect what he owed her, especially since he had already proven to fail with the gift she gave him. He still had the key with him, but there wasn’t a chance he could make another attempt. 

The archer’s attention quickly turned to him, hearing the uttered work and the whimpers that followed. 

“What is wrong?” The concern was thick in the man’s voice, moving over on the couch to place a gentle hand against the scientist’s shoulder, “Is the potion reacting poorly?” 

“Nah… it’s just…” the scientist hesitated for a moment. Should he really concern Hanzo with this problem? The guy had already been through enough no thanks to him, it would put a lot of extra weight onto his shoulders if he knew. Yet, the look delivered to him, the one that gave the madman nothing but genuine concern and worry, made his heart ache more. 

“I don’t think the Witch is dead,” reluctantly Jamison let it out. No use keeping the secret—the archer wasn’t going to be going anywhere for the night, and he’d rather get things out than remaining in silence until he fell asleep. 

“My arrow pierced her chest,” the tone was of confusion and a hint of disbelief, “there was no way she could have survived that.” 

“Well corpses don’t get up and walk away,” Jamison snorted, pulling his head up, “Not without a lot of work and trust me, that was nowhere near enough work done for her to be reanimated the way I do it.” There was no _key of life_ , nor the right jolt to start the heart. 

“I don’t know how her magic works, but the fact her body—and the body of my creation—were missing from the field as we left, means that something is wrong.” He was certain that it was not the end of her, and he would be hearing from her soon. 

“If that is true,” Hanzo frowned, turning so he was fully facing the doctor, “that means there is a chance she’ll be back to finish things.” What she had to finish up, Hanzo didn't know. Whatever her purpose was, it was not good. The Witch of the Wilds was never known for her pure kindness. Everything had a price, and sometimes that price outweighed what they were given. 

“Which also means she’ll be coming here eventually ta see me.” Junkenstein frowned as well. In the time he had known her, the Witch of the Wilds wasn’t exactly forgiving about incomplete jobs or the fact he was getting along so well with one of the Wanderers that had foiled their plans. 

Why did she go along with his plan of revenge anyways? That question stuck suddenly in his head, replacing the previous worries with a new one. She had very little to gain from helping him with getting into the castle and exacting his revenge. Perhaps, she needed something from the Lord, or maybe it was something more to do with Junkenstein himself. Was she needing something from him? She had spoken of her interest in his work, that was the reason she gave him the deal. 

“Jamie,” the name coming from Hanzo broke the doctor from his spiraling thoughts. _Jamie_ , the last time he had heard him called that was… He didn’t want to think about that far back, it was painful. 

His eyes turned to the archer, blinking a few times to signify he was at least conscious and responsive, “did you hear what I said.” 

“Wha? No sorry,” he shook his head, “What did ya say?” 

“I said you should be getting some rest, as should I.” Hanzo stood up slowly from the couch, stretching out his arms, “It has been a long night that deserves a decent amount of rest for the both of us. You need to be awake enough to help Ana repair your limbs.” It was a silent decision to not go any further into the conversation about the Witch. She had stolen enough attention in their lives that night for a lifetime. 

He offered out the hand to the doctor to help him up. 

The offered hand was the archer’s left one, a blue tattoo covering the whole arm all the way up and onto his chest. During battle, Jamison didn’t have a chance to get a good look at the intricacy of the ink from such a far distance away. Up close he could see the shape forming into a coiling dragon, it’s head wrapping around Hanzo’s wrist, blue clouds surrounding the creature’s body with bolts of lightning dotting around it. A beautiful work, majestic and powerful. 

“Huh,” humming as he took the hand, Jamison glanced to Hanzo’s face, “never made the connection with yer tattoo and yer dragons. Must be pretty obsessed with dragons.” He laughed a bit as he was pulled onto his feet. 

“The dragons are the protectors of my family,” Hanzo’s voice dropped a bit as he talked about them, “the ones I summon have stayed with me, even after I was banished from my home.” And he was glad they had stayed with him, the only company he had on the journeys he took to find a place to stay. The old place was no longer his home, yet it was hard to let go of it. 

“They always that aggressive or are they nice little blokes?” The scientist laughed, nodding towards the doorway that lead into the atrium of the castle, “I bet they’d be real nice ta have around just in case ye got into some nasty trouble.” 

Following the direction, the two slowly made their way into the open room, and after following another direction, they made the long and tedious trek up the staircase to where the bedrooms were situated. 

“They can manifest themselves in a different, more compact form, yes,” Hanzo responded, humming aloud, “either way they can cause a good amount of chaos.” He was cautious talking about them, too much and they would appear. Depending on their moods that could end badly for the already injured doctor. To gain the dragon’s trust was difficult, and since they had been used to fight against the very same man, they could still be aggressive, unsure if they could trust the safety of their human to the other. 

“Probably cute lil’ buggers in their compact form,” Jamison thought aloud, liking the idea of cute little dragons, even if they would be a bit bity. His attention turned to the area around him, directing the archer to the farthest door down the hallway where his own bedroom rested. 

The room they entered wasn’t something that would be found in a normal home, yet it wasn’t as extravagant as the bedrooms inside the Lord’s castle. The bed situated against the wall adjacent to the door, but farthest away from the opening was larger than normal—enough to fit two people and still have room for them to sprawl out without touching each other, and only a few pillows strewn around. The room was sparse of furniture: only a desk piled with papers and books, a chair, a dresser across from the bed and two nightstands on either side of the bed. Not too far from the bed was a large opening that was covered with drapes, leading out to one of the many balconies on the side of the castle. The colors were mostly gray-blues, brighter than the cold grays of the stone surrounding on the walls and ceiling. Below on the floor there were a few rugs, protecting the feet of those who walked on them from the cold stone below. 

Helping Junkenstein over to the bed, Hanzo gently set him down on the edge. He hesitated for a moment before assisting the scientist to remove the single boot. Attempting to take off any piece of clothing, especially a boot, would be impossibly difficult with a single hand. 

“You will be fine on your own, correct?” The archer studied the doctor as he pulled himself back onto the mattress, “I can stay in here for the night if you need any help.” 

“Don’t worry about ol’ me,” Jamison brushed off the offer, “there’s a spare room just to the right of here as you walk out that ye can use.” He pulled the covers over his body with the single hand, looking over to the archer. 

In his eyes there was something new. The once glint that was clouded by the smothering madness had begun to come through—a look of happiness, one that was unhindered by malicious glee or dark thoughts. Legit happiness. 

“Very well,” bowing his head, Hanzo let a single hand rest on the bed before pulling back, “Just holler if you need anything.” He turned, heading towards the door. 

Behind him, he could hear something softly escape the doctor’s lips, “Thank you, Hanzo… for showing me kindness…” 

It made him smile, his lips pulling to their extent on either side. A wonderful feeling it was to help, to show somebody kindness and pull them back from the brink of insanity. Such a calming and grounding experience. 

Perhaps Ana was right: they could be good for each other. 

“Good night, Jamie,” Hanzo responded in a similar quite tone, closing the door behind him. 

Once outside, he placed a hand onto the tattoo. The touch brought forth a blue glow, spreading from where he made contact to his skin all the way to the ends of the tattoo. Slowly, formed from the light two long dragons slipped from the confines of the tattoo, their eyes bright and soft trills slipping from their mouths as they were greeted by the sight of their human. 

Cooing, the dragons leaned into the pets that were given to their heads before resting atop Hanzo’s shoulders. 

“Kawa, Umi,” Hanzo started, gazing at each dragon as he said their names, “I need one of you to do something for me.” He could already tell by the looks growing on their faces they weren’t happy about what he was going to ask of them. 

“I understand you are not happy with him,” he began to take on a tone as if he was lecturing children as they pouted, “but I have forgiven him, and you should as well. He is much like us: broken and lost. I want one of you to keep an eye on him, just in case.” 

They knew what he was worried about: it was less a worry about Junkenstein getting up and doing something to Hanzo, but more of him doing something to himself or _somebody_ doing something to him. There was a high chance of either the Witch coming in—if she was still alive—or even a few townsfolk coming in and trashing the place, and one of their first stops would be the mad doctor’s room. Not to mention the possibility of guards coming. 

Kawa chirped, nudging his human’s face before lifting into the air. He would take on the task for the night, a bit keener on giving the man in the room a chance. If his human was willing to give the other human a chance, he would as well. 

“Thank you, Kawa,” the smile returned to the archer’s face. He watched as the dragon slipped rather un-gracefully through the small crack between the floor and the door—the little back legs wiggled in the air as the dragon struggled to slip through, vanishing once he could get a good grip. Hanzo hummed, glancing to Umi, “you need to get some rest too.” On cue Umi let out a large yawn, exposing all her sharp teeth. In response Hanzo let out a yawn of his own, covering his mouth with a closed hand. 

There was a temptation to search the castle a bit to get a better understanding of not only the layout, but of what was stored inside and of the doctor himself. Though, his fatigue was getting the better of him, urging him to go into the land of sleep. He’d have time to do it in the morning either before Ana came or during. For now, he retreated into the guest bedroom he was directed to, surprised at the fact it was about the same size as the one the doctor took as his own. 

It would be a nice change of pace to sleep in a full bed for once instead of the cold hard ground. His footsteps quietly pattered against the floor as he moved to the side of the bed. Storm bow, and quiver were set aside, resting against the nightstand. His top was the first to be removed, neatly folded and placed onto the chair that was situated not too far from the bed. 

Arms stretched over his head as another yawn escaped from his body. Most of the time a battle wouldn’t leave him this tired, but with so many targets for such a long span of time, it left the skilled fighter exhausted. 

Little effort was taken as he sat onto the bed’s edge, reaching down to remove the prosthetic legs—it was always uncomfortable for him to sleep with them on. The prosthetics were set against the beside like one would do with their slippers. 

Hoisting himself back, Hanzo quickly adjusted to the warmth and comfort that flowed over his body the moment he laid his body down. The softness soothed the aching in his joints, a tempting lull pulling him farther into the awaiting arms of sleep. 

Umi curled up next to him, just like her human more than ready to sleep. 

The morning was another day to face, bringing a new challenge to face. This challenge was working on a mad scientist to bring him back from the brink and into a warmer light. 

For the scientist, he was about ready to fall into sleep when something crawled into the bed next to him. 

“I thought ye said I needed me sleep,” he chuckled, turning around only to find a glowing blue face unhappily staring at him. 

“Uhhh…” Jamison stared back at the strange noodle, clearing his throat, “I’ve, uh, never slept with a dragon before,” he leaned back as the creature moved closer, snarling a bit. 

“Alright, alright—get the picture: ye’re not interested.” He raised his hand in defense, “Ye really won’t hurt a guy with one arm would ya?” The dragon snorted before resting its head against one of the pillows nearby. It was rather cute like he thought, much better than when it was larger and trying to kill him. 

“Ye really are a cute lil’ bugger,” Jamison laughed softly, offering out his hand for the little guy to sniff. Instead, the dragon ignored him, knowing that his human would be unhappy if he bit the other human’s hand. 

“Alright, well maybe next time.” The scientist retracted his hand and turned over. A long overdue yawn came out, pulling him gently into sleep.


	3. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's too deep in now to turn back

Junkenstein awoke to the sounds of footsteps. His mind quickly rose in happiness, expecting it to be Ana, or perhaps Hanzo. Had the morning come so fast? The last he could remember was a small noodle like creature curling up on the bed with him after giving him such a nasty look. 

The curtains rustled as the wind slowly picked up. No, it wasn’t even morning yet, so it was unlikely the alchemist was there to visit. Darkness still hung in the sky, not even the stars twinkled outside the satin curtains. 

Beside him the dragon let out a warning growl, the fur on its back rising and the ears angled down. Something was there that the spirit didn’t like. 

“What’s wrong?” Junkenstein sat up, looking over to the spirit. 

“I didn’t know you kept pets, Jamison,” the voice was not of one he expected nor exactly wanted to hear. His eyes grew wide before turning to see her. The Witch of the Wilds. She stood, looking as if there was no damage done to her from the fight the previous night. Not a single tear in her dress nor a scratch on her smiling face. That smile unnerved him, so friendly yet hiding such dark intentions underneath. 

Her eyes focused onto the dragon, seeing as it coiled up and continued to growl, “It looks a lot like what the Archer used against us, just a bit more,” she paused and let a grimace fall onto her face, “tiny.” 

“I think it’s cute,” Reaper appeared out of nowhere his voice flat of any emotion, getting the scientist to jump in surprise. Quickly, he pulled the covers over his bare chest as well as the growling dragon. A snort of protest escaped the creature as it was covered, but didn’t move to remove itself from the cover. 

“Of course you do,” the Witch gave a laugh to her servant, before focusing back on Junkenstein, “I am rather glad to hear you didn’t perish in the fight, it would be difficult to find another to help me out.” She waved a hand, before the Reaper vanished once again. 

“What is it ye even want help with?” Junkenstein shifted to sit with his legs hanging off the edge of the plush bed, “it’s kinda rude to barge in on a bloke why he’s asleep.” 

She only laughed, inviting herself into his room. Her steps clicked against the stone floor up until she reached the rug next to the bed. Slowly, she sat down next to the scientist, her hand placed onto his leg just above where it broke off to his peg leg. 

“You know you are a dear friend of mine,” She started, giving a small pat to the leg, “and after last night it was worrisome that I came back to find you missing. I was concerned the Wanderers had brought you to the Lord to be executed publicly or to display your corpse for everyone to see. It would have been a shame.” Despite the fact the words she spoke were ones of concern, there was something off about her words—like it was all fake, that she was only interested in the fact he was living rather than living _happily_. 

“Ya didn’t answer my question,” Junkenstein snorted, his eyes trailing towards the hallway as he heard a door open. Internally, he hoped that it wasn’t the archer waking up and going to walk in on him talking with the Witch. 

Instead, he saw the Reaper pass by the doorway, heading back towards the other end of the hallway. Okay, so it was just him wandering around, great. Either he decided to go on a pacing walk, or the Witch was having him search for something. 

His gaze turned back to the Witch, “What do you want?” The scientist wasn’t in the mood to be playing games of dancing around the truth. He was wanting to just have time to understand what was happening to him. 

“Always to the point,” she sighed in a rather fake, dramatic fashion, “You know that you owe me for the help of your monster, yes?” She waited until he nodded, “Well, I need that rather brilliant mind of yours to keep in one piece. My magic, even with how powerful it is, cannot do what I need.” 

“Ye’re still dancin’ around the truth, mate,” he grunted in annoyance. 

“Oh dear Junkenstein,” the Witch stood up, patting him on the cheek, “that is not part of our deal. I said you would owe me, and for now that is what it will remain as.” She hummed as the Reaper walked in. The being shook his pumpkin head and she turned her attention to Junkenstein, “I’ll be back tonight with something of yours. I would suggest you either deal with that pest problem or make it less noisy the next time I’m here.” She gestured towards the mass where the dragon was curled up before heading to the doorway. 

Her steps stopped as she was next to Reaper, not glancing back to the doctor, “Oh, and Doctor. Do not let those people deceive you. They may act kind a nice, but there is always ill intent. You know the way the people treated you before, there’s no reason these Wanderers will be any different, including the Archer.” 

“Besides,” he couldn’t see as a wicked smile curled her lips, “you wouldn’t want them to end up just like Lucio, now would you? It would be in your best interest, and theirs, to keep your distance.” She knew that would hit just the right spot, not needing to turn around to feel the shudder that rippled through the doctor's body. 

She waved and left the room, followed by her servant. Their steps echoed down the hallway as they made their way out of the scientist’s castle. 

“Why must we deal with that infuriating rat?” The Reaper hissed low, glaring back towards where they once were, “He failed and with his monster created, isn’t he useless now?” 

A dangerous laugh slipped from the Witch as she shook her head. A hand reached up and caressed the side of the Reaper’s pumpkin head, “Be patient Reaper, he still has a use. He will be helpful for the both of us.” Her tone took a turn downwards, “but I cannot have him getting friendly with the Alchemist, the Archer or anyone else.” 

“I cannot have him getting sane and questioning his work,” She sneered, an uncommon expression to her features, “if he goes back to the way he was before, when his little friend was still around, that means he won’t be so willing to do my work. That means I’ll have to take yet another out of the picture and,” her eyes turned to Reaper, “you won’t be able to get your revenge either.” 

The being beside her growled, not liking the idea of missing out on his own revenge, “Then what needs to be done mistress? I will personally end the fools who get in the way.” 

“No, no,” the idea was dismissed quickly, “You saw how well it went last night—the Wanderers are too strong for us to take out, when they are in a group.” Her mind shifted gears, dismissing the failure of the previous night, “Did you find any signs of the Archer?” 

“Nothing,” Reaper grumbled, “the only thing was that dragon in the doctor’s bed. Other than that, it’s unlikely the Archer was here, and if he was he’s long gone.” 

“Very well,” The Witch hummed, beginning to come up with a new plan in her head, “Perhaps it’s time I called in a favor from one of my dear friends. She should be able to easily track down the Archer if he is still around here.” 

“Great…” the pumpkin-headed being rolled his eyes, “more people to deal with.” He waited a moment before the Witch waved him along. Upon the signal he put his arms around her shoulders and the two vanished into a fine dark mist, slipping through the cracks between the front doors into the warming air of the coming morning. 

Remaining in his room Junkenstein leaned his head back, letting escape the exasperated sigh that was held in all the time the Witch was there. So much for freedom. He could already feel the madness gripping his mind again, the small bit of leeway he had before was being consumed. 

A soft trill rose up from the sheets before a small blue head popped out from under, eyes staring up at the doctor. Slowly, the slithering dragon slipped out and went to sit upon the man’s leg. Perched and sat there, Kawa observed the human seeing such similar signs that he had seen in his own human: loss. They had been quick to judge the human due to the circumstances. 

Cooing, Kawa headbutted the man against his chest, finally getting a rise out of him. 

“Oi,” he didn’t bat away the dragon, instead lifted his good hand and gave it a few gentle pats to the head, “now ye want the attention? I thought last night ye were about ready to gnaw me hand off.” Kawa nuzzled into the touch, letting out another soft trill. Guess that was a signal of ‘give me more attention.’ At least the dragon wasn’t trying to eat his hand and seemed to be warming up to him. 

“Strange little bugger,” Junkenstein shook his head, but continued with giving the dragons pets down its head. There was little chance for him to get more rest after such a stir. 

“’Ow about,” he offered out his hand as Kawa jumped onto it and curled around his arm, “we get up an’ get some food cookin’ for the two of us?” The idea set well with the dragon, getting a happy roar from the little thing. 

“I can still make a mean bit of breakfast,” he chuckled as he stood up from his bed. 

Much to his surprise, he didn’t fall over. Curious, the doctor glanced down towards his peg leg, seeing that repairs had been done to it. His attention whipped to the dragon on his arm, “Did ye do that?” It shook its little head, “Then who bloody fixed me leg?” 

The Witch. Of course. He glanced to his leg once more before giving a shrug, “Well at least that’ll make things easier. But,” he jumped, causing the dragon to get startled a bit, “What if Hanzy asks how it got fixed?” Kawa tilted his head at the nickname given to his human from the strange man. His human really didn’t like nicknames. 

Fingers tapped against his chin, a the quizzical expression growing on the dragon’s face, “AH!” Another jump that startled Kawa, “I’ll just say ye helped me little guy!” The little guy didn’t look convinced, “Awh come on, not gonna help me lie ta ye owner?” No response. 

“Fine, fine, but ye can’t tell ‘em the Witch was ‘ere, right?” He frowned to the dragon, “Yer owner has enough issues, I don’t want ta worry him with this.” The dragon thought for a moment before slowly nodding its head. The human was right, but Kawa still didn’t like lying to his human. 

“That’s a good mate, now,” Jamison laughed as he headed to the door, “Let’s get ourselves some grub!” 

The kitchen was mostly in shambles, flour strewn about while pots and pans were in every place but where they should be. Jamison hadn’t realized how long it had been since he had used the place, but once he entered it all hit him—almost literally when he nearly tripped over a pot on the floor. The scientist stumbled a few paces, getting a hold of his balance and checking if the noodle wrapped around his arm was fine. 

“Haha, well,” he placed his hand on his hip, shaking his head with a laugh, “maybe I won’t be makin’ some grub unless I can find some stuff that can be salvaged in this mess.” Kawa untangled himself from the doctor’s arm and went over to the fridge, nosing it open with his muzzle. The dragon examined what was inside before moving to the cabinets. 

Bit by bit Kawa directed Junkenstein to a few items that could be used for food: some rice, eggs and milk left in the fridge, plus a carton of orange juice. Enough to make a decent meal. 

A mixing bowl was pulled from the clutter and cleaned off in the sink, a few struggles to keep the dragon from laying in the bowl as the water filled it for cleaning. Next a pot was washed with more ease and two plates along with utensils. The stove was lit, and each ingredient was added. 

The rice was placed into a pot of water, carefully monitored to make sure they didn’t turn into mush as Junkenstein cracked the eggs in rapid succession, beating them together with some milk before putting them to the side. 

While waiting, Jamison glanced over to the sink, finding the dragon curled up staring straight up at the faucet, “Ye really want ta play in the water?” The small head nodded in a quick excitement, trilling as the doctor came over, “How the hell were ye one of those intimidatin’ dragons that could have chewed me up and spit me out in seconds?” The water was turned on and the happy cooing became louder as Kawa splashed around. He shook his head at the very intimidating dragon. 

As the rice approached being finished the egg mix was added and given time to cook the rest of the way with the rice. 

“It’s nothing fancy, but at least it’s something,” Jamison stated in a proud tone, pointing the spatula at Kawa that had poked his head up from the sink, “Need ta remember to get some sort of food in this bloody place.” Grocery shopping himself wasn’t going to be easy, biggest reason being the whole supposed to be dead part. He’d find something to make it work. 

“Maybe I could convince the ol’ Witch ta help me out,” his words came out as he thought aloud, picking up the stack of two plates and bringing it over to the stove, “she says she wants me alive, but it’s kinda hard to live without food, ya know?” Kawa nodded to him before floating over and sitting on the rim of the pot. 

“Oi, don’t be tryin’ ta eat out of the damned thing,” he snorted before scooping out a portion for the one plate before doing the same with the other, “Ye can have some of the left… over,” he didn’t even finish his sentence before the dragon’s head was in the remaining food, “ya couldn’t even have waited for me ta finish the sentence, mate?” 

He was ignored as Kawa continued to chow down. 

“Better not get me in trouble for feedin’ ye so much,” Jamison snorted as he brought one plate at a time over to the counter that passed for being the closest simile to a table. The smell of the food was intoxicating, even if it only held two ingredients. A nice surprise for the archer when he would come down. 

On cue, Hanzo entered the room, rubbing his eye as Umi rested across the back of his neck, draped across his shoulders. The noodle began to stir when she smelled the scent of food, and moved to where her sibling was once she saw him snarfing down on the food. 

“Good mornin’ sunshine,” Jamison snorted, seeing how fatigued the archer looked: his hair was completely down from where it was tied up, strands of the dark brown hair framing his cheekbones, “ye look like ye’ve seen better mornins.” 

Only a hum was the reply Hanzo gave at first, stretching as he let out a large yawn. It took a few seconds before the smell hit his senses, “You made food…?” And then another thing reached him, “How are you walking around?” Hanzo seemed to wake up even more, a bit worried of how the doctor was walking. Did he sleep in that late? 

“Had a bit of time this mornin’ and decided ta get me leg fixed,” it was a horribly spotty excuse since his arm wasn’t working, “didn’t feel like fixin’ the arm yet since it would be rude to give Ana the wrong bit of information, comin’ over and all.” 

The archer eyed him for a moment, but gave up on pursuing the issue. There would be no complaints from him for food he didn’t have to catch or cook himself. A fork was offered to him, which was gladly accepted and used to shovel a decent portion of the food into his mouth. 

Jamison himself situated on the other side of the table, chowing down on his own morsel of food. Occasionally he glanced towards the archer, and letting it wander towards the two dragons that were both eating the remainder of food. Mustn’t be too bad for them since Hanzo wasn’t scolding them. 

A few moments of silence passed as they both ate their food, Hanzo’s gaze keeping focused on his own plate why Jamison gazed around. Finally, the doctor broke the silence, “What’s your plans after all this is done?” It felt like a rather personal question to ask somebody he didn’t know well, but at the same time it was just where he would go—not like he was asking for his life story. 

“I do not know,” the archer admitted, giving a small frown as he set the fork down next to the plate, “I have done nothing but wander since I was banished from my home, I have had no clear goal in mind.” 

“That must really blow,” the remark from the scientist was more of a mumble that aloud, “I’ve rooted so deep into this place, even when they want me go I can’t leave.” It was just like the conversation they had the night before: Jamison was stubborn not wanting to uproot and find a new place to live. If they wanted him gone, they’d have to kill him—and they had almost succeeded in that. 

Hanzo smiled a bit, humming in thought, “I still wish I could have done that, but even now that I reflect upon it, I could have never stayed knowing of what I had done.” His eyes darkened, turning towards the empty plate in front, “I would be haunted by the ghost of my past, the shame and guilt I feel for killing my brother would only be amplified if I stayed where we were raised.” 

Killed his brother, huh? Well, no wonder why the archer didn’t want to stay at his home. The look, the pain that emanated from the man only gave a fraction of what guilt he felt, and Jamison could understand that. It was rather personal. 

Sighing, he too put his fork down, resting his arm on the counter’s surface, “It’s hard I’ll tell ya.” Such a sensitive subject brought a calmness to the doctor’s voice, “If I wasn’t so stubborn I probably would have left here meself.” 

Holding his breath a moment, Jamison buried back the feelings that welled up in his mind and in his gut, “Ye know that my father passed away a few years after I came here, right?” the archer nodded and he continued, “after that I spent a lot of time with Ana until I started becoming in good favor with the Lord. I met this right amazing guy when I started working in the lab in his castle.” 

Hanzo stopped himself from perking up too much about the story. Was this about the one Jesse spoke of? 

Fingers ran through the silver-white hairs, “He was a bard, had the most beautiful voice anyone had ever heard. Guy was so easy to get along with, and he seemed to have a special spot for me in his life.” 

“Every day he would come down to me lab and talk with me,” A blissful smile came to the scientist’s face, “Lucio was a gem of a human being. Kept all the people off my case about the studyin’ I was doing, and I guess kept me pretty level.” 

The calmness that was in the doctor’s voice was odd, foreign compared to the insane and energetic voice Hanzo was used to—the voice that was so annoying with each word that came out, higher pitched and strung together with laughter. This one was smooth, soft and almost—dare he say it—endearing. 

“I loved ‘em so much,” suddenly his voice dropped even more, “that made the fight we had so much harder.” Tears prickled at the edges of the doctor’s eyes, “He was concerned about my work tryin’ ta bring somebody back from the dead, especially when there was reports of a grave robber and murders goin’ around. He was beginning to think I was the one doin’ all the stuff—truth be told I was doin’ a bit of grave diggin’ at the time, but no murderin.” He’d leave out the part of not doing murdering at _that_ time. 

“It escalated into a real bad fight before I lashed out,” Jamison’s hand started to shake, “I hit him… Luc looked so wounded by it he turned around and left. I… I never saw him after that and rumors started to spread that he was gone. Dead.” 

Junkenstein took a moment to compose himself, “So we both have our problems: we’ve really hurt the ones we loved the most. What a pair of misfits we make, huh?” 

He didn’t look up, didn’t see the look that glinted in Hanzo’s eyes. The Archer’s heart ached seeing how broken the memories made Jamison. Was that how he got speaking of Genji? 

Both Kawa and Umi slithered over, chirping their concern to their human and the other one. One moment they were happily eating food, the next it was suddenly a depressed party. 

“Ah it’s alright mates,” as almost taking off a layer of clothing, Junkenstein reverted back to his rather upbeat demeanor, “the past is the past, can’t get anywhere dwellin’ on it.” He straightened up his back, standing up to his full height, “Todays a new day ta figure out what the bloody hell I’m gonna do with my life for now hanging low.” 

The doctor snapped his fingers, quickly going around the table and taking Hanzo’s hand, “I need ta show ya something!” There wasn’t a chance for protest to come out of the archer before he was being dragged away towards a different part of the castle. 

He was dragged up the stairs and brought back to Jamison’s room. Pulled through the curtains they halted in the open air surrounding the balcony. 

“This,” the doctor presented the outside world with his one arm to Hanzo, “is what I wanted to show ya.” 

Before them was a vast forest behind a glistening lake. The sun had begun to rise into the sky casting rays of its warm light onto the earth below, slithering between the rustling leaves of each tree. Against the cool blue lake the pinks, reds and oranges glittered and shimmered. Leaves were shifting from the green of summer into beautiful red, oranges and yellows of autumn, a nice accompaniment to the colors of the sunrise. A few herding animals lazily grazed on the grass why other were drinking from the clear waters. In the distance a wolf howled from within the trees, a distant sound that would haunt the grazing animals. 

“This is…” Hanzo was speechless. The night before he thought that the view of the town was magnificent. This, this had blown that out of the water. It was as beautiful as the view from his home. 

“It’s amazing,” the words finally came out of his mouth, a bright smile forming onto his lips, “I’ve never seen a sight that could compare to my home, but this is it.” He leaned forward, resting his hands against the stone fence that bordered the balcony. The crisp morning air mixed with the scent of the falling leaves. 

“I haven’t shared this sight with anyone in years,” Jamison took a spot next to Hanzo, gazing out into the distance as he soaked up every color, “Nowhere else can you get a sight like this, not even from the Lord’s castle. Untainted land from the touch of man: just nature.” 

The two remained in silence between them, listening to the distance sound of water lapping against the shore and the wind rattling through the trees. It was a perfect sight, romantic some would say. 

Hanzo trailed over to look at the doctor, noticing how the warm colors rested against his skin, glowing with the orange-brown of his eyes. The doctor wasn’t wearing his goggles, letting the archer see the eyes beneath. His face was still covered in soot and dirt from the battle, and he noticed a small freckle that was on his nose. Did Jamison have freckles? 

Hanzo wanted to avert his gaze when Jamison caught his eyes, but he just couldn’t look away. Something was pulling him to keep his sight steady, to just stare into those beautiful eyes. 

“Ye’re starin’ mate,” the doctor laughed, getting a small pinkness to rise to the archer’s cheeks. Shame, embarrassment, and a bit of something else. 

“Sorry,” still Hanzo didn’t look away. 

“Ye’re still starin’,” another laugh came out, Jamison beginning to lean forward, “Ye keep doin’ that and I just might just end up doin’ something crazy.” 

Hanzo hummed, his eyes partially closing as he mimicked the motion of leaning in. He didn’t want to stop himself, his lips parting softly, breathing in the scent in the air. Soot, mixed with a strange fruit punch blend. 

Jamison let out a sound almost like a purr, his single hand reaching up to gently caress the side of the archer’s face, brushing past the hairs of his beard. Slowly, he began to close the space between them, tilting his head to the side. Then, suddenly closing the last bit of space, his lips met Hanzo’s, gentle and soft. 

A few beats passed before he parted the lips, eyes half closed with his head slightly angled down, but his hand staying in position. 

“I…” he breathed out faintly, “I’m sorry.” Jamison slowly began to pull back. Well that was another impulse he didn’t know he could do. 

His movement ceased as a hand gripped the back of his head, holding him in place. Hanzo smiled to him, pulling him back in for a kiss. This one last for longer, followed by a string of more kisses, rising in passion with each time their lips met. 

Only after a few minutes did they let their lips make one last contact before leaving it there. Both breathed to calm down, smiling softly with their eyes half closed. Hanzo was the first to look up, his smile brightening as he made eye contact with Jamison. 

“Bloody hell,” the doctor laughed softly, “Ye’re a damn good kisser.” The redness had traveled from only being on the archer’s cheeks to the doctor’s as well. A soft laugh came from the other. 

The sound of somebody clearing their throat got both the archer and the scientist to jump. Two sets of eyes turned, finding the Alchemist standing at the doorway, leaning against the stone, “I hope I’m not interrupting something.” 

Hanzo averted his gaze, using a hand to cover his quickly reddening face. Jamison on the other had taken the opportunity to start laughing so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks. 

“Oh boy, ye have the best timing!” He cackled, holding his chest and shaking his head. As his laughing subsided he checked on Hanzo, giving him a few pats on the shoulder. That would be sticking with the archer for a while. 

Ana gave a smile, a mischievous hint to it. She gently sauntered over to them, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. The single eye focused on Hanzo and then Jamison, the smile going into a tender one. 

“You seem to be in a much better mood, Jamie,” her smile overflowed into her voice, the hand moving to gently cup the scientist’s cheek, “I can see that old glimmer in your eyes that I thought you had lost.” 

The alchemist hummed, letting both of her hands fall to rest by her side, “let’s head inside and I’ll make you two some tea before we sit down and get to working on fixing your arm.” A waved hand to beckon the two males to follow her, Ana vanished back behind the curtains into the castle. 

Hanzo glanced towards Jamison, smiling an awkward smile a teenager would give their partner after their mother caught them making out. Not like it was anything serious, but it still felt awkward for the archer. 

“Pansy,” Jamison teased as he stuck his tongue out, before making his leave to return inside. Left outside by himself, the archer had a moment to think to himself. 

He acted on impulse, not thinking about what could have come from kissing the doctor. Not even a full day ago he had been trying to kill the man! For the sake of the spirit dragons that protected his family, Jamison Junkenstein was trying to kill him too! It made his head hurt trying to grasp how quickly things could change. 

How did he even fall for the doctor? His giggling was unnerving, how it rose and fell trailing on longer than it should have. The giggles were high pitched, strung together and would send shivers down his back. The insanity that glinted in the doctor’s near amber eyes could shake even the strongest of men. His lips would curl into that cruel grin, exposing the sharp canine teeth looking ready to tear right through the target’s throat. Danger lurking in every movement he made. Any sane person would see all the signs as a reason to stay away. 

Yet, when there was the flicker of humanity—when it wasn’t the mad Dr. Jamison Junkenstein, but _Jamison_ , there was something comforting about him. The insane smile turned to a soft one, a hint of madness still lingering in the curled lips, but it didn’t choke out the warmth. 

“Hanzo,” Ana called out, getting the archer to glance over towards the opening, “Are you coming dear? I don’t want your tea to get too cold or you to freeze out there.” 

“Coming,” he replied. Light on his feet, a quick stride was all he needed to return inside, following the echoing of voices to where the two sat to begin their work on the scientist’s arm. 

Three cups of tea sat on the table, separated from the various parts and tools that would be used to repair the prosthetic. Steam rose from the warm liquid, the scent teasing the archer’s senses. He wanted to do the observations around the doctor’s home, but the tea was tantalizing. 

“Sit, please,” Ana hummed, patting the spot next to her on the sofa, “you still need your rest as well Archer, even if it’s morning.” In one of her hands was the doctor’s arm and the other held a piece of thin metal, coupled with the soldering iron held by the doctor himself would help to patch up a few of the holes in the wiring. 

“I was thinking about doing some meditation and stretching outside,” Hanzo politely declined the invitation, “I’ll join you in a bit.” From his peripheral vision he noticed a thin frown form on Jamison’s lips. 

“Very well,” the alchemist sighed, giving a small wave to him, “don’t spend the whole day doing it.” She left out what she had truly meant, but the hint was heavily there: don’t spend time by himself for too long, or perhaps she knew about the snooping that was a possibility in his activities. 

“Don’t get lost,” the remark from Jamison was softer than normal, his eyes avoiding contact with Hanzo’s. How quickly he mood could shift was surprising. 

“I won’t be too long,” an attempted smile was given before Hanzo turned to head out. A little bit of snooping around wouldn’t hurt too badly, right? 

His steps were light, ensuring he didn’t make too many noises. Much to his surprise, there were still some Zomnics within the castle. They paid no mind to him, but they seemed different than the ones that were put together and shot down by the four of them. These ones had more care, better put together without wires hanging out and their arms hardly attached to their body. Their purpose must be for a longer lifespan than the others. 

A soft electric hum radiated out of each one as Hanzo passed by, moving along about their business and not interrupting the human’s stride. There was no purpose in confronting the human, so it would not stray them from their rounds. 

“Odd…” Hanzo hummed aloud. What was their purpose? His mind dismissed spending too much time on figuring it out. He only had maybe an hour at max to wander and discover before Ana and Jamison would be finished. 

His journey brought the destination to a darkened hallway. Leading into the darkness he could hear that familiar electric hum, but this was coming from something else, something larger. It wasn’t a group of the Zomnics, that was for sure. It was a steady hum, looping continuously in a single sound. 

Slowly, Hanzo inched into the darkness, feeling the walls to keep himself on track. As each step was taken, he felt constricted. A lingering stench of fear hovered in the air, thick and almost suffocating. An imprint left upon the very essence of life stuck in the hallway, growing stronger the farther he went. 

A glowing, cool white glow came into view, arches of electricity jumping from coil to coil. This had to be the lab. A cold metal slab stood in the middle of the room, metal restraints wide open as if inviting somebody to lay down, waiting to snap close to hold a limb prisoner. A white sheet lay close by, a large footprint imprinted upon its surface. Too big to be a normal human foot—it had to be from the monster. 

“So, this is where that monster was created,” Hanzo softly spoke to himself, eyes gazing over all the machines that lined the walls. So many devices that he had no idea what they would do, technology he had never seen before. 

And then there was something that really caught his eyes. A green crystal, three jagged points sprouting from one core. Its glittering form hung suspended in the air, aimed right down upon the steel table. 

What was that? He was pulled, inching towards the crystals. Whispers radiated off the air, haunting and inaudible. A million voices calling out their warning that he couldn’t understand. The closer the archer got to the crystal the stronger he could feel warmth and an odd comforting feeling. Like life was flowing off from the crystal itself. 

“What the hell?” Hanzo pulled back suddenly, a distinct voice making him back off. It was familiar to him, yet he had never heard somebody with the accent besides Jamison. Don’t touch it. Get out. 

Only a moment of hesitation lingered for the hero: curiosity was pulling him to press further, but the push from the voice, the uneasiness that was hidden underneath the warmth was offsetting. Glancing back one more time, Hanzo quickly exited the room. That was something he could have lived without knowing. 

His steps quickly lead him back to the atrium of the castle. How far did he go just to get back here? Had he not noticed any of the other rooms? Everything seemed to be a blur in his mind, a mixture of fear and panic narrowing his focus. That crystal was extraordinary, shaking a stoic and composed man such as Hanzo to his very core. 

He shivered, brushing away the lingering feelings. He had to act like nothing was wrong not to rise suspicion. Breath in, breath out. A few more rounds of breathing and he was calmed enough. Might as well return to the other two. 

Jamison steadied his hand, focused as the heat brushed against his dysfunctional limb, melting the metal into the body to seal the holes. The wires had been easily fixed with the help of Ana, and their conversations easily distracted from the pain that would ebb into his limb as it slowly regained function. 

“How are you holding out, Jamie?” Ana gently set down the excess metal wiring and patted his arm, “Have you been taking a potion every few hours to help out with healing?” A motherly concern, one she had missed doing ever since she had lost her daughter to that cursed spirit. 

“I’m fine,” Jamison hummed, slowly flexing his fingers to test their responsiveness. He hadn’t taken one of the potions since the previous night, but he didn’t have to tell Ana that specifically. 

He glanced up to see her staring at him. She wasn’t buying that answer, and wanted more detail. It had to be handed to Ana: she was good at giving those kinds of looks. 

“I’ve just,” he gave a defeated sigh, turning his gaze away, “I’m worried is all. How am I gonna be able ta keep a low profile and recover from this mess? I’m public enemy number one in Aldersbrunn, but I don’t wanna go. I stay, and I’ll be havin’ people come to try ta kill me, and I’ll just be isolate again. At the same time if I go, I’ll be losin’ my home, the last place I had me father, and I’ll be leavin’ him behind.” Proceeding, he buried his head in both arms, “It’s a whole big bloody mess.” 

“You can’t beat yourself up,” Ana comfortingly squeezed the doctor’s shoulder, pulling him in for a tender hug, “Allah knows you have had a hard life, and what you need is time to recover.” She decided to shift the conversation into something lighter. 

“Though, I do see that you are getting along with Hanzo well,” She smiled, laughing as the male laughed as well, pushing her away, “You can’t say you’re not after what I saw. I may be old, but I know what that kind of passion means.” 

“Ana!” The doctor whined, shaking his head, “I don’t wanna start hearin’ about yer past love lives, that’s gross.” 

“Love is not gross, Jamison, even at my age,” Ana teased as she rolled her eyes, “You’ll understand once you get to my age that it’s important. Still,” her smile persisted as she held her gaze steady with the doctor’s uncovered eyes, “it’s wonderful that you’ve found another to get along with. I’m happy for the two of you—even if it doesn’t progress into something more, it’s still wonderful for the two of you. Though,” she got that mischievous grin again, “would you like there to be something more?” 

“Ye’re doin’ it again, _mom_ ,” Jamison rolled his eyes, teasingly calling her mom. He waited for a moment for the giggling to subside before giving a small shrug, “There may be a bit of something,” quickly he pointed a metal finger to Ana, “but don’t get yer hopes up. He’s,” he swallowed back the feelings that threatened to seep out, to consume his composure and leave him in a mess, “he’s not one for settlin’ down, I can see it in ‘im. Besides, there’s better people than a mad—but handsome—doctor ta go out with.” 

“Jamison,” Ana gave him a stern look, getting the scientist to squirm just a bit under the gaze. Kids, always doubting themselves, “You have hardly ever doubted anything in your life, why are you starting now? You had a downturn, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t recover from it.” 

“I wish I had yer positive outlook,” he hummed, letting his head rest against her shoulder, “I missed talkin’ with ya.” 

“I missed it too,” She smiled, giving a soft kiss to his head.


End file.
